


if we live to see the other side of this

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Season/Series 03-04 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root knows where they all are, but she can't tell them the things she wants to say to them. One of them moreso than the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if we live to see the other side of this

There wasn't time, before. Never enough time. Not enough time to save all the numbers, not enough time to stop Decima. Just barely enough time to escape with their lives, to scatter to the winds, not even enough time to say a proper farewell. Root knew where everyone was-- but she was the only one, her and the Machine, which even now whispered of how her compatriots (friends, the Machine calls them, her friends, the closest thing to friends she's had since Hannah, the ones she fought beside, the ones she fought to save) are doing. There wasn't enough time to do what she wouldn't even let herself dream about (a night, one night, and the morning after, watching Shaw wake up from normal unconsciousness and not tazed or drugged unconsciousness, touching the marks she'd left the night before and smiling because there was time to make a few more before they had to go), and Root was very bad at not thinking about things unless her mind was fully occupied with other stuff. And the Machine wasn't helping. Whispering to her where her friends were, where Shaw was, how well Shaw was keeping to her cover, how many lives she saved that day. Root had known that Shaw would chafe at the bit in any occupation that didn't give her some excitement; an EMT seemed like a good fit, putting her skills to use and letting her continue saving lives. Not numbers-- not as good as numbers-- but it was something, and something had to do.

The Machine told her about all of them-- Harold working as a research librarian, coming home every night to a clinically depressed Bear, the two of them walking the streets with very similarly dejected expressions. John, who was doing rather well for himself as a private investigator, and the way he tracked Harold and Bear on their nightly walks, never close enough to be seen, never close enough to brush shoulders and exchange a word, too dangerous for all of them to be seen together, no matter how desperately he wanted just to lay eyes on Harold without the aid of binoculars or a camera. Jason, Daniel, Daizo, hidden in plain sight, playing the parts of normal, harmless, irrelevant men, a brown paper wrapper disguising the explosive contents of the minds that could help undo the horror that was Samaritan unleashed. Yes, Root knew what they were all doing, waiting, living the average and unremarkable lives that Root and the Machine had set up for them. Safe, for now. Safe until She told Root when it was time to bring them back into the fold, to reach out, to whisper in their ears the reassurances that the Machine whispered in hers.

Root watched, too. From a distance, of course, at a safe remove, never close enough for Samaritan to make any relationship association between herself and the objects of her surveillance. And she wanted, she wanted to reach out, she wanted to speak to them. Wanted to tell Harold that the plan was coalescing. Wanted to tell John that his skills would be needed soon. Wanted to tell Shaw the things they hadn't had time for, that she was the most fun partner in crime Root had ever had, wanted to tell her that the scars from where she'd done the stitching were where Root traced her fingers when she was alone, that they were her favorite reminders of the other woman because they were part of her flesh forever changed by Shaw's hands. She wanted to tell Shaw that they'd already saved each other's lives and they could stand to get a little closer, couldn't they? They've been stained with each other's blood, forged and tempered in battle, comrades in arms for true. They've come past the point of expecting to get stabbed in the back, haven't they? They've come far enough that they could come as close to trusting each other as either of them is capable of, haven't they?

It's not time. Not yet. But when it is time, when the time has come, Root is going to take what time they have and use it to the fullest. She'll find time for the words she wants to say. Second chances don't come around often. When Root's comes, she's going to push her luck, try every exploit, take any risk. When her second chance comes, she's going to sink her teeth into it and use the best weapon she has at hand: the truth.


End file.
